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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797291">Love is the Death of Duty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickahontas/pseuds/nickahontas'>nickahontas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Valaena Verse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dragons, F/M, House Stark, House Targaryen, Rare Pairing, Robert’s Rebellion, Self-Insert, direwolves, shown through canon perspective</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:13:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,620</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickahontas/pseuds/nickahontas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned Stark falls in love at Harrenhal. Unfortunately, the world goes on and his duty requires something different from him.</p><p> </p><p>A self insert shown from a canon character’s perspective.</p><p> </p><p>————————</p><p>“Your father is the cold. He is the force behind the blizzard, deadly and inevitable. Winter is coming. These words are not so intimidating as ‘Fire and Blood’ or ‘Our Blades are Sharp’  Not until you get to know a Stark. The South had lured the wolf out of the den and they were not prepared for its bite. The North was coming and there was no stopping it.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ned Stark/Catelyn Stark, Ned Stark/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Valaena Verse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>270</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brandon’s lance explodes against the mystery knight’s steel armor with a crash so loud it is heard over the horses’ thundering hooves. The knight flies off his saddle, limbs spread out like a great metal bird. Terrified silence reigns. Even Ned leans forward to see if the man is alive.</p><p>The Tourney at Harrenhall has proved to be an eventful one. There is the King, for one. He is an event unto himself. Princess Valaena is too. She was the first woman to compete in the archery contests since the days of Visenya. She won in true fairness and had even been honorable enough to refuse the winner’s purse.</p><p>‘I only want to prove that women are capable of grand feats as well as men,” she’d announced. Then as an afterthought, she’d added, “And to make my house proud.”</p><p>The crowd fell in love, as did most of the lords. Ned included. The Princess is stunning, all silver hair, long limbs, and fiery eyes. If her Father is madness made flesh and her elder brother Rhaegar mystery incarnate, she is fire come alive. Her laugh is loud and echoing and never contained. She dons dresses as often as leggings, wears her hair free and pinned up. Any criticism is met with one of her fierce laughs and a taunt.</p><p>Royal family aside, the tournament boasts not one, but two mystery knights, an especially rare occurrence. The Knight of the Laughing Tree seemed to have a personal score to settle. He jousted for a single day and only required his opponents to teach his knights honor. The crowd had loved him. Ned had too, if he were to be honest. The Knight of the White Raven, however, entered the lists with naught but glory on his mind. He charges with no abandon, utterly fearless despite his slim frame. It took Brandon, the best horseman in all the North, seven times to unseat him. Seven times!</p><p>Ned watches as his big brother rushes over to his prone opponent. The knight has no squire. He’s probably paid some boy to fetch his lances. He must be young, whoever he is. Maybe even a squire. Brandon will never forgive himself.</p><p>Brandon bends to speak to the knight. Then, slowly, a gauntleted hand raises. Brandon smiles like a wolf and pulls the man to his feet. The crowd is deafening.</p><p>“Look!” Lyanna hisses, nudging him in the side. Ned winces. She’s always had the sharpest elbows. “The King isn’t happy.”</p><p>Ned looks to the left, where Brandon is half carrying the knight to. Indeed, the King is not happy. Not that the man could ever appear happy. The malice in his austere features is unsettling. No man should hold that much hate.</p><p>“And so he has been defeated, our grand White Raven. The Herald of Winter,” the King booms. Ned’s guts twist. He can’t think the Starks have anything to do with this, surely. “Who are you to declare what even the gods have not? SHOW YOURSELF!”</p><p>Brandon, thank the gods, does not betray his discomfort. He only loosens his grip enough to allow the knight room. The knight pauses as he raises his arms, probably in pain, and then lifts the plain helm in one swift movement. Lyanna gasps. She is not the only one.</p><p>The Princess stands in full plate armor, leaning on Brandon with her silver hair in disarray. Her cheeks are flushed red and sweat shines on her face, but her smile is breathtaking. She looks up at her father, then to a Kingsguard below him, then to the stands. Everyone is as silent as the grave.</p><p>She laughs. She laughs and laughs, tipping her head back and falling into Brandon’s chest. He props her up as gently as he can in all his steel armor. Her laughter chimes over the grounds like a bell. She’s the most beautiful creature Ned has ever seen. She doesn’t seem to even belong in the world.</p><p>“What am I?” She finally asks. “What did I rank?”</p><p>No one answers. The official herald shifts in his seat. </p><p>“Ninth, Your Highness,” Brandon says. He at least has the sense to nod in deference to her.</p><p>“Ha! Top ten!” Her smile is so wide it crinkles her purple eyes.“Top ten! They told me I couldn’t and look at me now. Here in the top ten!“</p><p>The smallfolk roar. The Riverlands aren’t as populated as the Reach or the Crownlands, but they have traveled far and wide to witness Whent’s Great Tourney They roar so loud Ned feels it in his chest. Reluctantly, he glances up and up at where the top of the nearest tower should be. Did the dragons sound anything like this?</p><p>The King’s beady eyes dart to and fro beneath his matted hair as he waits for the noise to stop. It takes quite a while for the crowd to die down. Too long for the tastes of their mad king if his curled, clawed hands are any indication.</p><p>“You have proven yourself to be a true dragon, Valaena,” he finally says.</p><p>Valaena beams, bowing as much as her injuries will allow. “I only ever hope to do right by my House.”</p><p>“And you have. Now be gone. There are two more tilts today.”</p><p>Brandon bows and offers his platitudes. The Princess does not lift her grip on his arm once. When they leave, it is with him half carrying past the stands. She seems very small next to him despite her impressive height.</p><p>Benjen bolts up, nearly jerking Lya’s arm out of its socket. “Come on! Let’s see Brandon!”</p><p>“But the lists-“</p><p>“Come on, Lya!”</p><p>Lya pulls Ned by the arm, silently pleading. He sighs, but relents all the same. Leave these two alone and they’d manage to bring down what the dragons had not all those years ago.</p><p> </p><p>They find their brother ripping off his gauntlets in his tent. He is not alone. The Princess leans over a table, her knuckles white where she grips the edge. Her lovely face is contorted with pain.</p><p>“Lya, fetch a maester,” Brandon orders. “Benjen stand guard. Ned, give me a hand.”</p><p>The three of them scurry to obey. Ned hasn’t been with many women. He isn’t a blushing maid, but he’s never been brave enough to seek them out like Brandon and Robert. His ‘conquests’ haven’t been conquests at all. If anything, it always seemed he was the one being conquered and never by someone like Valaena Targaryen. He’s relieved that his hands do not tremble when he reaches for the buckle at her shoulder.</p><p>He and Brandon make quick work of her armor. They share a glance, gray eyes flashing with a silent argument. Ned loses.</p><p>“Princess,” he says softly, as if a quiet voice could help the pain. “I know it will hurt but we must remove your chainmail.”</p><p>She cuts her purple eyes at him. They widen slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. She only purses her lips, takes a deep breath, and raises her arms. Brandon lifts the mail shirt as quickly and carefully as he can. The Princess cries out, falling forward. Ned catches her.</p><p>“Come, maybe you should sit.”</p><p>“No!” She hisses. “Something’s wrong down there.”</p><p>Brandon curses. Ned has to bite his cheek to keep his own back. Brandon has inadvertently ruined the Princess <em>down there</em>. It will be death for all of them.</p><p>Canvas rustles and stout man appears in Ned’s periphery. Ned’s never seen a ginger maester. Logically, he’s aware that maesters are men, but it’s always startling when their humanity is revealed.</p><p>“Cut her shirt away,” the man orders, not bothering to see if they listen. He barks something harsh at Lya, who spilled some of the water when she sat it on the table.</p><p>“You do it, Ned. I’ll get to work on the rest of her armor,” Brandon says.</p><p>Ned grimaces. “Alright, Princess. Can you hold on to me for balance while we help the maester?”</p><p>Her lilac eyes flare. “You want me to stand still while two handsome brothers undress me?” She asks. Her full lips pull back into a mischievous smile. “I’ll try.”</p><p>Brandon coughs out a startled laugh. Ned feels heat flare from his neck to his ears to his face.</p><p>“Just try to stand still, please,” he mumbles.</p><p>Her smirk turns into a wince as she steadies herself on his left shoulder. The oversized white tunic, perhaps her brother’s, rips easily under his dagger. It floats to the ground to rest amongst the abandoned steel plates. Ned curses at what it reveals. The lance’s impact point is a perfectly round black bruise in her ribs. Deep purple tendrils flare from it like a blooming flower.</p><p>“Hold on to Lord Stark, Princess. This will hurt,” the maester says.</p><p>He presses his freckled hands against her mottled flesh. She grunts and closes her eyes against the pain. Ned isn’t sure what to do other than pat her arms in reassurance.</p><p>“I don’t feel a fracture,” the maester finally announces. “Just a nasty bruise. No tight corsets, none at all if you can manage it. No training, no archery, no running. Is there anything else bothering you?”</p><p>“My arse. I think I broke it.”</p><p>The maester purses his lips together. Brandon blanches from where he is unbuckling the last bit of her armor. It falls from her thigh with a heavy clamor.</p><p>“You can leave, Lord Brandon. Your brother and sister will suffice.”</p><p>“Do you really need Ned?” Brandon asks, somewhat desperately.</p><p>“Yes, I do. Out!”</p><p>Brandon grits his teeth, shooting Ned a questioning glance. He shrugs. Brandon rolls his eyes and storms out of the tent without another word.</p><p>“My lady, help me with her breeches.”</p><p>Ned stares at a point across the tent as Lya unlaces the Princess’s trousers. It is mortifying. It wouldn’t have been so terrible if they knew one another. They haven’t even been introduced! </p><p>“Where are the Kingsguard? Shouldn’t they be helping?” Lya asks. She must sense his alarm.</p><p>“The Kingsguard are sworn to the king,” the Princess bites out. “Those who aren’t- jesusfuckingchrist your hands are cold!”</p><p>“You’re burning up!” Lya exclaims.</p><p>The maester hurries forward. “Yes, you’re feverish. There might-“</p><p>“I’m not feverish! It’s my blood!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Dragon’s blood runs hot. This is normal for me.”</p><p>Voices raise outside the tent, there’s a clamor ofnmrtal and then a tall man with black armor slips in like a shadow. His dark eyes take everything in, pausing on Ned. Ned, for his part, turns his gaze back to the far side of the tent, praying to the Old Gods that the prince is not like his father. He may be if his sister’s sudden onslaught of cursing is right.<span class="Apple-converted-space"><br/>
</span></p><p>”Goddamnit! Why did the hell did you bring him? He’ll never-“</p><p>“Are she alright?” The Prince cuts in. “Is my sister unharmed?”</p><p>“She has bruised ribs and a temperature-“</p><p>“That’s normal! Tell him, Rhaegar!” She cuts in, nails clawing into Ned’s jerkin. “Can you please get on with it? I don’t fancy having my lily white arse out for all the world to see!”</p><p>“Princess, a fever may indicate internal bleeding and-“</p><p>“It is normal, Maester,” the Prince interrupts, much more kindly than his sister. “She and I have the dragon blood of old.“</p><p>The Maester’s chain jingles. “Very well. This will hurt, Princess.”</p><p>The Princess half grunts and half screams in an almost inhuman way. Ned is so startled by it that he looks at her in concern. Her jaw is set and his purple eyes are boring into his with determination. She’s tall, of a height with him. Perhaps that’s why the Maester chose Ned to stay. He can’t easily peer over her shoulder to sneak a peek like Brandon could have. Well. That and Brandon does have quite the reputation.</p><p>“Winterfell is beautiful,” Ned blurts. “It isn’t as lovely as the Eyrie or as massive as Harrenhall, but it is beautiful. She is ancient. You can feel it in the walls. I always thought it was the most magical place in the world until I saw the Wall. The Wall took my breath away. It’s always depicted as a towering slab of white ice, but that isn’t so. Ice reflects. It turns red and pink and purple with the sun’s horizon. It seems to glow with the power of the moon at night. There’s nothing like it in the world.”</p><p>Miraculously, the Princess’s face softens with each word. Her eyes grow distant as she imagines the landscape he’s tried to paint. He’s about to pull something out of his arse about the Godswood, or perhaps looking out over the Vale at night, when her jaw unclenches. The maester’s chains clank as he rises.</p><p>“You may help the Princess dress, Lady Stark.” The Maester turns to Prince Rhaegar. He’s staring at Ned with a strange expression. Ned swallows nervously as he passes the Princess off to his sister.</p><p>“Your Highness?” The maester asks.</p><p>Prince Rhaegar shakes himself out of his reverie. “Yes? Is all well?”</p><p>“The Princess was correct. She has indeed fractured her coccyx.”</p><p>“Her what?” Lya asks, where she is distractedly pulling one of Brandon’s shirts over the Princess’s head. Ned immediately looks away. Her breasts are larger than he’d thought.</p><p>“Tailbone,” the Targaryens answer as one.</p><p>“Thanks, Lady Lyanna,” Princess Valaena says. She only has her left arm through a sleeve, but the shirt is large enough to cover her right side and arm. She’s very slender to be so intimidating.</p><p>Ned fights back a jolt when she catches his eye. There’s something astoundingly sad, almost pitying, hiding behind the mischief in her eyes.</p><p>“And thank you, Eddard Stark. The ladies will faint with envy when I tell them how chivalrous the Quiet Wolf is.”</p><p>Lya smirks, but the Silver Prince prolapses into his strange, contemplative expression.</p><p>“No riding and no sitting for long periods of time for at least four weeks, possibly more if it is not just a bruise.”</p><p>“I can’t just stay at Harrenhall for a moon’s turn!”</p><p>“You certainly cannot travel all the way to King’s Landing if you do not wish to cause yourself irreparable harm. All is well now, but if anything were to happen, it could make the child bed a perilous place for you.”</p><p>Prince Rhaegar nods solemnly. “I understand, maester. I will ensure that she curbs her worst impulses.”</p><p>The Princess chokes out an incredulous scoff. “Where’s Oz? I need a nap. And some wine. Plenty of wine.”</p><p>“He is outside, entertaining the young Lord Benjen. Your brother is quite taken, Lord Eddard. Lady Lyan-”</p><p>“Right,” the Princess interrupts loudly. “We’re leaving. Thanks again.”</p><p>With that, she drags her brother out of the tent. The three of them watch the royal siblings curiously.</p><p>“What an odd girl,” the maester says.</p><p>“Aye. You know what else is odd? My brother the poet. What was that bit about the moon, again?”</p><p>Fire burns under Ned’s skin, but he can’t feel too embarrassed. The softness in her lavender eyes is worth all the humiliation in the world.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br/>
<br/>
</span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Ned awakes to Brandon shaking him urgently.</p><p>“Ned! Ned! You’ve got to get up. We’ve been summoned.”</p><p>Ned rubs at his itching eyes.</p><p>“Summoned?” He mumbles.</p><p>“By the King.”</p><p>Ned is suddenly very awake.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ned waits nervously outside the King’s solar. He has faith in Brandon as the Heir, as his big brother, but he is still anxious. Brandon is known for his wild charm, a charisma that Ned doubts their king will appreciate. They are both predators, the wolves and the dragons, and predators do not share territory easily.</p><p><em>Brandon is with me</em>, Ned assures himself. <em>And Lya is with Benjen. We are not lone wolves</em>.</p><p>Robert is probably with them by now as well. Ned and Brandon had given hasty orders to Brandon’s squire, young Ethan Glover, and Lyanna’s friend Howland. They can only hope that it will be enough if things go awry.</p><p>“His Grace will see you now,” the Kingsguard announces.</p><p>The heavy wooden door creaks open. Ned shares a final look with his brother as they enter.</p><p>This lord’s solar is as big as Winterfell’s library. Someone has put in dozens of tables and sofas to try and fill up the space. It looks ridiculous. In Winterfell, the lord’s solar has a desk, a table, and bench under the lone window.</p><p>A servant in Targaryen livery leads them to a gathering of plum colored seating near the eastern wall. It is eerily dark except for two candelabras illuminating the King and his son. They look startlingly alike, much in the way Benjen and Father do. King Aerys seems half dead in the glum light. The circles of his eyes are deeper, the mad glint brighter. The Prince, by contrast, is a romantic painting come to life.</p><p>The Starks kneel as one. Ned fancies he can feel a sword scratching at the back of his neck.</p><p>“Rise,” the King says. His voice is surprisingly clear. That surely cannot be a good sign.</p><p>They rise and take the appointed sofa. It is stiff and the fabric bites at his trousers. Brandon doesn’t let any discomfort he may feel show. He sprawls across his end languidly. Prince Rhaegar meets his arrogant gaze with a politely bored one. They stare at one another until the Prince looks away. Ned thinks he spies a shadow of a grin, but it’s probably a trick of the light. </p><p>“You have been summoned to speak with your King and Prince,” the King says.</p><p>“We are most honored,” Brandon replies. “We did not expect to meet with any member of the royal family.”</p><p>“Why? Why do you not wish to meet with the noble house of Targaryen?”</p><p>Ned’s heart leaps in his throat. Gods, he wishes Robert with them. Robert could hold off that Kingsguard lurking in the corner while Brandon at least had the opportunity to take out Rhaegar. If the dragons mean to attack, the wolves will not die meekly. As it is, Brandon will have to fight off the Kingsguard while Ned lunges with the dagger up his sleeve. The King is unarmed, except for his horrid claws, but the Prince has a long knife at his hip.  </p><p>Brandon bows his head. “For no other reason than practicality. You’re a busy man, Your Grace, and the North is loyal.”</p><p>The King scoffs. “You do not wish to supplicate yourselves for riches or land or the hand of my daughter or granddaughter?” </p><p>“It is still yet spring, Your Grace, and winter is coming. House Stark will save it supplication for when it is needed.”</p><p>Ned is impressed with Brandon’s restraint. Usually such words would be spat out or accompanied with a snarl.</p><p>Prince Rhaegar frowns. “House Stark is one of our most loyal vessels. You need not-“</p><p>Stone grinds loudly, setting Ned’s teeth on edge. and one of the bookshelves disappears into the wall. A tall woman strides through. Her black dress clings like shadows and her hair is as pale and enchanting as the moon. She is as lovely as a night in the Eyrie. She watches the floor as she walks, blinking heavily as she maneuvers through the low tables and wide chairs. She doesn’t look up until she reaches their corner, her full lips twisted into a frown.</p><p>“Rhae, what...”</p><p>The Princess notices her father first. Something in her eyes deadens at the sight of him. She sees Brandon next, her gaze lingering on his thighs casually spread wide. Her cheeks darken with a blush and she looks away, barely cataloguing Ned’s presence. He should be used to it, but her quick dismissal still chafes.</p><p>“What’s happened?” She demands, rounding on her brother. Her voice is rough with sleep. “What have you done?”</p><p>The King laughs cruelly while Prince Rhaegar raises his pale brows. “I’ve done nothing, sweet sister.”</p><p>“Then why was I pulled out of bed before the sun could rise?”</p><p>“Perhaps I simply wished it so,” the King muses.</p><p>Princess Valaena glances at her father. “I don’t see why you’d need me for any of your political schemes.”</p><p>“Have you not always demanded to have a say in your marriage?”</p><p>Valaena sucks in a breath at the same time as Brandon. Ned finds he can’t move. He can hardly breathe. His gaze darts from their rotting king to his son and back again. Neither reveals anything except amusement on the Princess’s behalf.</p><p>“What is this?” She hisses, her hands balled into fists.</p><p>Ned shifts in his seat. The North isn’t luxurious, but it isn’t as bad as all that.</p><p>“Are you displeased, sister? You’ve begged to-“</p><p>“Nothing in life is free. Why would you give me what I want?”</p><p>Ned and Brandon share a bewildered glance. This is certainly not what either of them had expected. Any of it, least of all the only Targaryen princess to want to marry North. </p><p>“Can it not be that we love you, daughter?” the King asks.</p><p>“No,” she says shortly. “You’d rather see me hang myself from the battlements of Casterly Rock for the insult it would show Tywin. Or perhaps from the Red Keep, as an insult to my sweet brother, who would have me stay a spare for when he fucks his wife into an early grave.”</p><p>The Kingsguard moves for the first time. His armored fist tightens on his ornate spear. Prince Llewyn Martell must be under that helm, listening to them speak of his niece as if she is a broken doll.</p><p>“Valaena-“ Prince Rhaegar snaps.</p><p>“Would you?” the King asks curiously.</p><p>She only stares the him down until he chuckles, almost lustfully.</p><p>“My little Visenya,” he says fondly.</p><p>Ned feels his stomach churn.</p><p>“It’s too early for this,” she says. “Play your games and let me sleep.”</p><p>“This is no game,” Prince Rhaegar says. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes burn with a fervor not unlike his father’s. “The Pact of Ice and Fire was never fulfilled, yet the Starks have ruled the North for nearly ten thousand years. They have shown nothing but loyalty to our house since they gave up their crown. We should see them rewarded.”</p><p>“I know very well how you would-“</p><p>“Enough!” The King roars. Both Brandon and Ned nearly jump to their feet. “It has already been decided. Rhaegar has nearly convinced me of it all, but I will have my daughter bound to the heir, not the second son.”</p><p>“Second son,” the princess whispers.</p><p>“Pardon?” Ned asks, just as Brandon blurts, “Ned?!”</p><p>Prince Rhaegar sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “There is much wisdom in wedding Valaena to Lord Eddard. The Targaryens have never had a strong presence in the northern kingdoms. If Valaena marries the second son, they can form a cadet new branch of both families, the only two families in Westeros with magic still coursing through our veins. She and her children will breathe new life into the people’s love for us and strengthen ties to a great house that we have overlooked for far too long.”</p><p>The silence is deafening. Ned is too afraid to speak for fear of ruining their chances. What the Prince has proposed is Father’s greatest dream. There is no greater southern ambition than a royal marriage. </p><p>“What say you, Lord Stark?” The King asks.</p><p>Brandon scratches at his beard as he gathers his words.</p><p>“House Stark would be honored either way,” he finally says, not bothering to hide his exhaustion. “I’d be lying if I said I could ever love Catelyn Tully. As for the Prince’s proposal, my father and I have already decided which lands to offer Ned. Moat Cailin, on the southern border, is an impressive stronghold even in its ruined state and Sea Dragon Point, on the western coast, would make a fine trading city in time.”</p><p>Ned stares at his brother. He’s never heard of such plans. He thought...well, Ned never really thought about what would become of his life. He’s only the second son, after all. Maybe a year or two at home and then he’d go to the Stormlands with Robert. Or maybe he’d go back to the Vale with Robert and spend the rest of his life in the North.</p><p>“And what do you say, daughter?” the King asks.</p><p>The Princess snorts. “Take me down to the Godswood and I’ll marry either of them this very minute.”</p><p>Prince Rhaegar gives her a small, sad smile.</p><p>“Yes, but if you were given a choice, who would you choose?”</p><p>“Both.”</p><p>Brandon breaks into a coughing fit. Ned sinks into the sofa, desperately hoping to fade into the awful fabric.</p><p>“Valaena,” the Prince chastises.</p><p>“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”</p><p>“Both of my children are power hungry cretins,” the King says disdainfully.</p><p>Ned glances at him, foolishly expecting a fond smile or an eye roll, but only true disgust is evident on his features. His children, who look so very much like him, return his glare with cool expressions. How terrible it must be to fear your father. How exhausting to police your every smile and word in fear of your life. No wonder the Princess wanted to marry so far from her home.</p><p>“You want your own legacy. I can see it in your eyes, just as lustful and greedy as your mother. Tell me Stark, are you so hungry for glory and riches?”</p><p>Ned does not cower. He meets the King’s sunken violet eyes as he says, “I only want a family, Your Grace.”</p><p>The King cackles suddenly. “She’s got a strong body, my daughter. She should be a good broodmare, at the very least. Now, out of my sight, the lot of you. I’ll announce your betrothal at the feast tonight. And send Rossart in!”</p><p>All four of them bow deeply. The King’s children leave through the hidden door while Brandon and Ned are forced to endure the long walk through the solar. They do not even dare to look at one another until they are back in their tent, surrounded by their friends and family. Only then does Brandon fall into hysterics and Ned bury his face in his hands.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The Princess, who demands to be call Val, attaches herself to Ned’s hip after the King’s announcement. She apologizes profusely, explaining that she needs to strengthen their betrothal anyway that she can, but he doesn’t mind. Apparently, that morning with the King had been one of his more stable moods. Ned cannot begrudge her for trying to escape.</p><p>No one else seems to mind either, except perhaps Catelyn Tully. Val has a dirtier mouth than Brandon and a mind as keen as Jon Arryn’s. Beneath it all though, lies a deep pool of kindness. She may not be gentle, but she is a good, just woman.</p><p>For all of that kindness, a brutal ruthlessness simmers under her skin. It is most evident in her honesty. Her truths are blades, sharp things that slice no matter how Ned dodges. She is not a maid. She gave herself to the Red Viper when a Lannister betrothal was first mentioned. She would not hesitate to slit her father’s throat. She is prepared to do the same when her brother loses his sanity.</p><p>Ned is the one to kiss her. They are before Harrenhal’s Heart Tree and a breeze picks up.</p><p>Val is the one to sneak into his bed. He is kind and gentle and tries to show her all the love she has never seen. He holds her when she cries afterwards.</p><p>Rhaegar is the one to ruin it all.</p><p>He wins the joust and rides past his wife. At first they think he means to crown his sister, but he pulls up short, just in front of Lyanna, and Ned doesn't understand. He doesn't understand until the Prince stands in his stirrups and stretches over the bannister.</p><p>Lyanna is as stoic as the Wall. Her wild fury freezes into ice.</p><p>Then, before Ned can work out what has happened, the crown of roses is gone. One moment it is in the Prince’s gloved hands, a beautiful curse, and the next it is simply gone. Then Val is standing in front of him and she’s slamming the roses on his head and pulling him into a violent kiss.</p><p>The yard is shocked silent. The crowd does not even dare to breathe until Val breaks away for air. Only then do the commonfolk start wolf whistling and cat-calling. The nobles, however, still do not speak. They do not move. They watch in horrified silence as the Prince trots off in a rage.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The Starks and Baratheons leave Harrenhal as quickly as they can, the Stormlanders headed to the Vale and the Starks to Riverrun. Despite the summer heat, one rider wears leather gloves and hooded cloak. He follows until they are nearly an hour from the castle. Only then does he spur his horse to the front of their party and throw back his hood, revealing bronze skin and a regal hooked nose.</p><p>Ned and Brandon follow Valaena as she steers her horse off the road. The Red Viper glares at them with flat, black eyes.</p><p>"I will not leave my brother," Brandon says.</p><p>"And I will not leave her," Ned says.</p><p>Prince Oberyn's venomous gaze roams over Ned lazily. "Vee, if you wanted a second son you needed only ask."</p><p>"Oberyn, this is not the time!" Valaena snaps.</p><p>Prince Oberyn lets out a deep sigh, his slender body relaxing into his saddle. Ned and Brandon are no less wary.</p><p>"Elia sent me-"</p><p>"She shouldn't have," Val cuts in. "Do not leave her side, Oberyn. I don't care what Doran or Aerys or Rhaegar say, do not let her or Rhaenys out of your sight."</p><p>Prince Oberyn narrows his eyes. "What do you know?"</p><p>"Nothing. Everything. It's just a matter of time and the Targaryens don't have dragons anymore. I can't always be there to intervene.Something is bound to happen and Aeg-...Just stay with her. Please.”</p><p>“And why can you not?” He hisses, suddenly every bit the Viper again. “She is the pregnant mother of your niece! You-“</p><p>Eddard’s fists tighten around his reins. “Valaena is in-“</p><p>“Valaena is more-“</p><p>“Enough!” Valaena shouts.</p><p>The horses startle, cantering and whinnying in protest. Ned and Oberyn shut up and listen like the second sons they were raised to be. Soldiers at their core, not leaders.</p><p>“Go back to Elia and protect her. Work something out with Llewyn. We both know Arthur won’t do shit without my brother’s permission. As much as you’ve taught me, as grateful as I am for it, I won’t be able to put any of it to use there. Go, Oberyn.”</p><p>Oberyn stares at the Princess for a long time. At last, he sniffs haughtily and straightens in the saddle.</p><p>“Our blood is on your hands if you slink into the North like a coward. I expected more of you, my little Visenya.”</p><p>At her father’s pet name, Val breaks out into an ugly black rage. Brandon reaches over to shove Valaena back into the saddle as the Prince turns his horse around.</p><p>“He thinks himself so progressive and righteous yet he dares use that name!”</p><p>“He’s afraid, Val,” Brandon reproaches. “He’s afraid and he wants someone he trusts at his side. I reckon there’s very few people worthy of it down there.”</p><p>Her fury softens as quickly as it came. She is much like Brandon and Robert in that regard. “Is he right? Should I go?”</p><p>“No,” Ned says.</p><p>Brandon shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. Benjen’s trading out with Father for my wedding. Speak with him about it, but don’t worry til then. If there really is a war coming, this is the only time you two will get to fuck like rabbits.”</p><p>“Brandon!” Ned shouts, but he is already speeding up the road.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ned says meekly.</p><p>Valaena stretches over to kiss his flushed cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed, did you know?”</p><p>Ned blushes and grumbles and kicks his own steed into motion, ignoring her cackling laughter. </p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>From Riverrun, Ned and Valaena travel north with Benjen to Moat Cailin. It’s as if Ned is seeing it for the first time. He looks around the crumbling keep, imagining it filled within people and builders and silver haired children underfoot. The thought has him grinning ear to ear, much to Valaena’s amusement.</p><p>Ned convinces her to stay behind and play at domesticity. They laugh and kiss and make plans for the castle. Valaena, already so beautiful, blossoms away from her family. She is so stunning that it hurts sometimes, especially when she lies contentedly against his chest at night.</p><p>She is a creature made for the night, his Valaena. One memory in particular will haunt him until the end of his days.</p><p>She is naked, standing in front of the open window, peering out over the thick greenery surrounding their castle. From his vantage point, he can only see her glowing hair and the shadows caressing her curves. She turns to him when she hears him move. Her smile is as bright and free as the stars behind her.</p><p>“I love you,” she says.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Father arrives far too quickly. Ned doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to go back to the coming war and the political schemes. They take their time going south. Father hangs back, watching and planning. He studies Valaena carefully. He pulls her aside to ask her about the capital and her father and herself. Ned doesn’t join them. She’s never had a father in her life. Rickard Stark may not be warm or loving but he is not an incestuous madman.</p><p>They arrive to Riverrun in a state of chaos.</p><p>Ned’s life is chaos.</p><p>Lyanna has gone. There was no note andno sign of struggle except for the tracks of four other horses rushing into the Westerlands.</p><p>“Your fool of a brother has gone too,” the Blackfish says, spitting on the ground. Brynden Tully came forward to explain the situation to Ned after Father was immediately pulled into Lord Tully’s office. “He wouldn’t listen. Took his friends and went to King’s Landing to demand his sister back, the fucking idiots.”</p><p>“No,” Valaena whispers. “No. I thought with us....no.”</p><p>She climbs back into the saddle, her face pulled tight. She had been so happy. So free.</p><p>Ned grabs at the reins before she can disappear too. </p><p>“Where are you going?!” He cries.</p><p>“To try and catch up with your brother! When did they leave?”</p><p>“Four days ago," the Blackfish says.</p><p>“Fuck. Ned! Give me the reins.”</p><p>“You can’t go. Rhaegar’s mad, you said it yourself. What-“</p><p>“Rhaegar wouldn’t have taken her home,” she says.</p><p>All the blood drains from his head. He stumbles in the sudden dizziness.</p><p>"Your brother is a dead man if I don't catch up with them. The Princess will not be denied fresh horses. Let me go."</p><p>The reins, so very heavy, fall from his hands in a dead weight. Valaena does not spare him another glance before she forces her horse around and thunders back across the drawbridge. Ned watches her go with his heart in his feet.</p><p>Brynden Tully clasps Ned's shoulder comfortingly.</p><p>"Come on, lad. Let's get you a mug of ale."<br/><br/></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Father finds him in the godswood an hour later. He glances around, his thick brows furrowed close together.</p><p>"Where's Valaena?"</p><p>"Rhaegar didn't take Lya to King's Landing. Brandon will be burned alive, Father."</p><p>"Where is Valaena."</p><p>Ned blanches. His father hasn't had to use the warden's voice on him in years.</p><p>"She went to catch-"</p><p>Father runs a hand over his face. "When? When did she leave?"</p><p>"As soon as we got-..." Ned lurches to his feet and grabs at his father's arm. "Father! Father! Where are you going?!"</p><p>Father glances over Ned's shoulder at the Heart Tree. His long face is contorted in sorrow and guilt.</p><p>"Ned. Ned, my sweetest son. Ned, she is...Fuck! Gods forgive me. Forgive me, Ned, forgive me, but I must go. I must try to save them."</p><p>With those strange parting words, Ned is left alone in the world, wondering if he will see his sister or his brother or his father or his wife ever again.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm already married," Ned says, but even as he speaks he knows it is not true.</p><p>More than two turns of the moon has passed since the world went to shit. There has been no word from Father or Valaena or Lya, only that terrible raven declaring Brandon and his party charred husks. Ned will never hear Brandon laugh again. His mind keeps saying the words over and over, taunting and cruel: Brandon will never laugh again.</p><p>"You are not," Hoster Tully says flatly. "You never married the Princess, gods rest her soul. What you did was not as man and wife."</p><p>"It may as well have been," Ned argues stubbornly.</p><p>"Boy! You are the Lord of W-"</p><p>"My father is not dead!"</p><p>"It matters not! You are his heir and my daughter was promised to the Heir of Winterfell."</p><p>Ned collapses into the seat across from Lord Tully. Jon Arryn and Howland Reed watch with with faces contorted in solemn pity. Only Robert has the decency to be angry.</p><p>"For fuck's sake, man! Have sympathy!"</p><p>"War does not have sympathy, Baratheon, and my troops will not march before I receive what I was promised!"</p><p>Robert's face darkens and Ned buries his head in his hands, all too aware of the coming storm. Sure enough, Robert's thunderous yells and Lord Tully's indignant cries soon pound at Ned's skull.</p><p>Fuck Rhaegar Targaryen, Ned thinks venomously. And fuck this fucking river.</p><p>Mountain winds have sung his lullabies for nearly a decade. He is used to their fierce whispers. The rivers are another matter. They are ever present, ever rumbling, a constant irritation. He cannot think for the river, cannot even pray without it's interruption.</p><p>Jon sidles over to sit beside him. Ned can recognize him by his heavy gait and the mint that grows so plentiful in the mountains.</p><p>"My son. Sweet Ned. You’re the best man-“</p><p>Ned rushes to his feet. He is tired of being a good man, the dutiful son, the honorable Ned Stark. Why can’t he be like Brandon? Why can’t Brandon be here to tell him what to to do? Why did Brandon have to be Brandon and leave?</p><p>Ned takes a fortifying breath.</p><p>“I will marry Catelyn tomorrow night and we will leave the next day. Does that satisfy you, Lord Hoster?”</p><p>Hoster Tully nods shortly, even as his eyes burn bright at the prospect.</p><p>“I am glad one of the three of us will be pleased, then. Gods know Catelyn won’t like this any more than I do.</p><p>With that, Ned rushes out of the stifling room, nearly running to the stables. He rides far enough into the forest to pretend the faint roar of the river is a cold wind on a winter day and Brandon will soon thunder through the trees with one of his monstrous laughs at the ready.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He weds Catelyn in the Godswood and then the Sept. It seems to take an eternity. She weeps both times.</p><p>He beds Catelyn in the guest chambers of Riverrun. It seems to take an eternity. In the end, he has to bury his head in her neck and close his eyes. She cries and he cannot bring himself to hold her. Instead, he sleeps on the bench in the windowsill, trying to forget how lovely Valaena would look on a clear night like this.<br/>
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</p><p> </p><p>The new Lady Stark is cordial with him the next day. He echoes her pleasantries and her wishes for him to be safe. He does not hate her or blame her. His new lady wife did not wish for him just as much as he did not wish for her.</p><p>He is not Brandon. He is not bold and handsome. She is not Valaena. She is not daring and fierce. They are dutiful and kind and lifeless without their wild counterparts.</p><p>Ned is so caught up in his moping that he doesn’t hear the shocked voices and the startled cries. He doesn’t notice the tense silence that blankets the courtyard like snow. He focuses on his new wife, watching her mouth move and not hearing a word that leaves her mouth. She might be saying something about hair or the air or an heir.</p><p>Seven hells, an heir. He’s probably the Lord of Winterfell now. He needs an heir. Should he have coupled with her this morning? Wouldn’t that have hurt her? Did she want to? Hoster Tully would have wanted them too.</p><p>“Ned?”</p><p>He spins so quickly that he nearly topples over. There, standing in front of a black sand steed, is Valaena Targaryen. Her eyes are ringed with dark circles, her hair is greasy and matted, and she is the most beautiful creature he has ever laid his eyes on. He crushes her to his chest without a thought. He doesn’t let her go until she complains and half-shoves at him and even then he cradles her face in his hands.</p><p>“I’m sorry about Brandon,” she says, her voice cracking. “We tried.”</p><p>He pulls her close to kiss her forehead. She smells like horse and sweat and smoke, but she is here. She is alive.</p><p>“Princess! Princess! Is that her? Get out of my way! Princess! What news, Princess?”</p><p>Ned pulls back enough to see Jon Arryn shoving through the crowd, Robert at his side. Robert seems torn between begrudging relief on Ned’s behalf and angry to see any Targaryen. Jon Arryn, shrewd, clever Jon, pulls up short. His blue eyes dart from Val to Catelyn and back.</p><p>Ned curses internally. He’d forgotten about Catelyn. Poor, pitiful Catelyn Tully. An almost widow forced to marry to her dearly departed love’s ugly little brother, who’s own deceased lover has come back from the grave.</p><p>He turns to her with an apology on his lips, but he can’t bring himself to say it. It would be dishonest and she deserves more than that. She deserves the truth, however horrible it may be.</p><p>The awkwardness only worsens when Valaena throws back her head in laughter. It’s his favorite laugh of hers, the loud, cackling one. Though it sounds nothing like Brandon, it reminds Ned of him all the same. Brandon will never laugh so fully, so wildly, ever again, he remembers.</p><p>“Princess?” A deep, trilling voice asks.</p><p>A man with dark blond hair and deep golden skin steps forward. He wears no colors, but Ned recognizes the accent and his coloring. Only in Dorne do people have such light hair with dark skin. Only in Dorne do people favor spears on their backs in lieu of swords on their hips.</p><p>Val straightens herself, wiping tears from her eyes and pulling her cloak tight. She breaks apart from Ned to stand at the Dornishman’s side. Ned’s heart clenches at the sight, at the easy way they lean into one another.</p><p>“Lord Arryn, Lord Baratheon. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Might I suggest we speak privately? With your lords? ”</p><p>Jon bows his head. “Of course, Princess.”</p><p>At Jon’s behest, a page runs off to call the meeting. Jon leads the way through the maze of halls. Val and the Dornishman follow, their heads bowed together in a fierce, whispered argument. The ever-loyal Robert walks at Ned’s side. Try as they might, neither make out a single word over the damn river.</p><p>Ned had hoped to never see Riverrun’s war room again. They’ve spent too much time in the dreadful place over the past two moons. There’s only one window and it’s been covered due to the summer storms. Maps and slate boards make up the other three walls. In the center sits a long, sturdy table for all the lords to gather round.</p><p>The Dornishman pulls out the chair at the head of the table, glaring at an affronted Hoster Tully as Valaena takes the seat. He stands by her side, his spear planted firmly.</p><p>Ned immediately claims the seat to her right. He wrings his hands under the table to keep from grabbing hers.</p><p>“Is my father-did he-?”</p><p>She smiles gently. “Rickard was fine the last I saw him.”</p><p>It’s as though a poisoned thorn has been pulled from his skin. The dark weight on his shoulders floats away. Father is alive. He is alive and well.</p><p>“When? When did you last see him?”</p><p>Val fumbles with her cloak until she finds a sealed scroll. “A moon’s turn, give or take. He wrote this for you, but I think it’s personal.”</p><p>Ned nods and pockets it, careful not to touch her hand. She smiles sadly at him.</p><p>“I did warn you I have terrible luck, Ned.”</p><p>“It’ll work out. It has to.”</p><p>The Dornishman grinds his spear into the stone floor. Robert pulls out a dagger and begins flipping and twisting it nonchalantly.</p><p>“Loyal fools,” Val says fondly.</p><p>Ned tries to smile and utterly fails. “Aye. Idiots.”</p><p>Both men scowl. Robert begins to retort something undoubtedly crass, but he’s interrupted by Lord Tully’s call for attention. There are only a handful of lords for each of the four kingdoms in open rebellion. Ned only has Howland and Mark Ryswell, the two Northern bannnermen able to make it south so quickly.</p><p>“Princess, what news have you brought?” Jon asks.</p><p>Valaena produces a thick envelope sealed with a wolf, a speared sun, and a three headed dragon. There’s probably never been another document like it. The Starks, the Martells, and the Targaryens, all working together. Jon rips it open without a care in the world. His eyes dart across the pages with startling speed.</p><p>“That is evidence that everything I say is true. Ned has a personalmessage from his father if you have further doubts.”</p><p>Robert waves his hand impatiently. “Get on with it.”</p><p>“I left for King’s Landing as soon as I arrived in hopes of catching up with Brandon Stark. I failed, but Rickard Stark found me.” Val takes a deep breath and shoves her hand’s deep into the cloak’s pockets. “We rode hard, never sleeping until we physically could not stay upright in the saddle. As you know, it was not enough. By the time we reached Antlers, we knew were too late and we had to change tactics.</p><p>“Rickard shaved his head and beard and I dyed my hair. We snuck in to the city and stayed near the docks for three days. There, I gave my dagger to the first Dornishman I saw, who gave it to Ser Ryon Allyrion, the very same man behind me, who gave it to Oberyn Martell. Thus began the talks between the North and Dorne, even as Brandon and his men were murdered.”</p><p>Her gaze turns dark for a moment, before she takes another deep breath to steel herself.</p><p>“Lord Rickard Stark and Prince Oberyn Martell have left for Dorne to rescue Lady Lyanna. If the gods are kind, they’ll get there before my prick of a brother leaves, but the gods are dicks, so I’ll doubt we’ll get so lucky.”</p><p>“Dorne?!” Someone cries aghast, while Robert immediately jumps to his feet.</p><p>“I should be there! It should be me! I want to cave that bastard’s chest in!” He bellows.</p><p>“Peace, cousin. You’ll likely have the chance to do it yourself,” Val says.</p><p>Ser Ryon, the Heir to Godsgrave, holds his head high as he speaks. “We believe that Ser Arthur Dayne will have offered Prince Rhaegar several locations in Dorne for the Lady’s imprisonment. Prince Oberyn is personally assisting Lord Rickard in recompense for Ser Arthur’s actions and for the honor of his sister, our Princess Elia. Dorne is prepared to distract the Tyrells from their attacks on the Crownlands and provide assistance when possible. Our priority, however, is our own lady’s safety. Elia Martell and her babes are prisoners of the Mad King just as Lyanna Stark is the prisoner of Rhaegar Targaryen.”</p><p>“I’ve sent word to Dragonstone and the Crownlands,” Val says, “asking men to march for me as Princess. Nothing will come of it, but I figured the worst they can do is say no. I wish I could be of more help.”</p><p>Jon smiles gently. “Princess, you’ve brokered an alliance between the North and Dorne. You very well may have won us this war single handedly. There’s only Tywin Lannister and the Reach to contend with now. We all know the Greyjoys are good for nothing. I propose we continue as planned, albeit without the rush. There is no need for that now that Lady Lyanna’s rescue is underway.”</p><p>“And after? What about then?” Lord Tully asks.</p><p>“Viserys will take the black. My mother is pregnant. If it is a boy, he will do the same. If it is a girl, she will be fostered until she is of age, at which point her fate will be determined. My mother will be given her choice of where to live out the rest of her days in peace. If anyone asks for her hand in marriage, I don’t care who, I will slit their throat to the bone. Am I understood?”</p><p>Choruses of ‘Yes, Princess’ echo amongst the lords.</p><p>“Rhaegar and Father will die. Their madness cannot be allowed to fester and spread any longer. As for Rhaegar’s children, Dorne will not hold their alliance beyond Lyanna’s rescue unless it is agreed that Aegon Targaryen will take the Iron Throne.”</p><p>A thick tensions settles in the room, encouraged by Ser Ryon’s hard stare.</p><p>“Egg was not born of incest as Father and Rhaegar were. It is very unlikely that he carries that madness despite his Targaryen looks. Also, Elia has personally requested that Jon Arryn serve as Hand of the King and will offer several positions to loyal lords after the war is won.”</p><p>Jon bows his head. “I would be honored.”</p><p>“I thought so,” Val says drily. “Any other questions? Am I free to go?”</p><p>“Will you be riding out with us, cousin?” Robert queries.</p><p>Ned could kiss him for asking, even if it’s painfully obvious that it is only for Ned’s benefit.</p><p>“No, but don’t worry Tully, I won’t be staying at Riverrun either.” She frowns thoughtfully, her eyes settling on a broad shouldered, hook nosed man in the Riverlands party. “I’ve always wanted to see Raventree Hall, if Lord Tytos would permit.”</p><p>Lord Blackwood bows. “Of course, Princess. My wife Shiera would be glad for the company.”</p><p>“I am much appreciative. Are there any other questions for me?” </p><p>No one speaks, so Val stands, curtsies slightly, and leaves through the nearest servant’s door with Ser Ryon on her heels. Ned wants to follow. He wants to follow so badly that it gnaws at him, tearing at his mind while the other lords discuss the war. They finally decide to delay the march until noon. It will give the soldiers three more hours to have one last castle meal and say their goodbyes.</p><p>Ned ignores Hoster Tully’s accusing stare and heads straight to the Godswood.</p><p>Val watches a raven trot across the Heart Tree. She’s washed her face and pulled her hair back, but she still looks exhausted. Her mournful eyes and downturned lips make her look even more like Rhaegar.</p><p>“I didn’t want to,” Ned says. “I thought Robert might start another war with how much I didn’t want to.”</p><p>She smiles a little. “He loves you.”</p><p>“Aye, he does.”</p><p>Ned walks over to stand at her side, watching the raven settle in to watch them. He can’t resist imagining what it would have been like to say his vows to her instead. She would have asked Brandon to hand her off. She would have kissed him long and hard and given him her Valyrian steel dagger as a gift. They would have slit their palms and prayed for a long marriage with a dozen children.</p><p>“I love you,” he tells her.</p><p>She reaches over to squeeze his hand. Then, as if arguing with herself, she sighs heavily and tugs him around as if they really were going to say their vows.</p><p>He’d had to crane his neck to look Catelyn in the eye. Val is of a height with him, his equal in so many ways.</p><p>She pulls his hands forward, through her cloak, to settle on her midsection. He doesn’t understand at first. All he can think is that her belly is round. He stupidly thinks she must have eaten an awful lot or drunk a barrel of ale. Robert’s belly does that after a feast sometimes.</p><p>Then, in a slow rush, logic returns and he falls to his knees. Ned nearly rips the cloak away, revealing a man’s leather vest. Her gently swollen stomach strains at the seams and the loose laces. He tears at them to shove his hands under her clothes.</p><p>Her belly is scorching hot and much softer than it had been. He gently places his ear against it, ignoring the strong smell of horse and leather.</p><p>Hesitantly, so very carefully, she begins running her fingers through his hair.</p><p>“You won’t hear anything,” she says, her voice amused. “I should be about eighteen weeks. Halfway through.”</p><p>“When did you know?” He asks, tilting his head to look up at her. Valaena, the mother of his child, of the babe growing between them at this very moment. His heart picks up in excitement.</p><p>“Rickard told me. He figured it out on the way to Riverrun. It’s why he rushed after me like he did. He won’t admit it, but I think you’re his favorite.” Her hand pauses it’s ministrations and she peers down at him. “Ned, I need to know you’ll take care of them.”</p><p>“Of who?”</p><p>“The baby.”</p><p>He furrows his brows. “Of course I will. We both will.”</p><p>“Ned. Their plan may be good one, but it is a good plan. Something will go wrong. I need to to know that you will protect our child when it happens. Swear to me, Ned. Promise me.”</p><p>He kisses her lips softly, ignoring the images of Catelyn Stark that his honor conjures. “I promise, Valaena. I promise.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Valaena is proved correct in the worst of ways. It was a good plan, an optimistic plan, but it didn’t account for the logic of madmen. </p><p>King Scab burns Elia and her children alive, claiming they are usurpers and false dragons. Not even silver-haired Aegon was pure enough for his grandfather. Prince Oberyn beats the messenger half to death. Only Robert and Greatjon manage to pull him off.</p><p>Lyanna Stark dies in Raventree Hall of all places. They say she stopped to meet her brother’s bastard twins and finally succumbed to her Dornish fever in the shadow of a weirwood tree, home at last. It’s pretty and romantic, but everyone forgets that tree has been dead for a century. Robert beats the messenger to death. Not even Ned and Greatjon can pull him away.</p><p>Rhaegar Targaryen dies outside of King’s Landing. His corpse is hung from its walls until it is nothing but bleached bone. It will not be lowered until Robert himself is killed nearly three decades later. Prince Oberyn nearly murders Jaime Lannister until the Kingslayer explains that Aerys meant to drown the city in green flame. </p><p>Weeks later, just as the Starks are preparing to leave, Tywin Lannister’s men arrive with three corpses. Robert stands over the ruined corpses of Rhaella, Viserys, and Danaerys, and curses them for Dragonspawn, Ned is catapulted back to Riverrun, where he swore a vow to Valaena for the gods to hear.</p><p>
  <em>‘Old gods, if you can hear me, help me. Help me now.’</em>
</p><p>Ned’s boots echo through the cavernous throne room. He does not look back at his father, nor over to Jon Arryn, nor down at the red shrouds at their feet. He stares at his oldest friend, at his chosen brother.</p><p>“My children are dragonspawn, Robert. Will you murder my babes as well?”</p><p>Father, Roose Bolton, and Jon Umber sidle forward to stand at his back. Robert fumbles a bit before he scowls.</p><p>“Ned! I could never harm them! They would be nephews to me!”</p><p>Ned only looks down at the small bundle of red cloth.</p><p>“Just as Danaerys was a cousin to you?”</p><p>Small murmurs break out, their harsh whispers grating at his ears.</p><p>“If you try to harm one hair on any of their heads, we will see how the storm fares against winter. Do you understand, Your Grace?”</p><p>“Ned-“</p><p>But Ned has already turned his back on his king. The northern armies are gone by nightfall, three ravens flying ahead as dark guides.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>At Riverrun, a baby with fire for hair is placed in Ned’s arms and all he can think of is Danaerys Targaryen. Anger and sadness and love-so much love- fill his heart. It is too much to understand, too much for one man to bear. He buckles under the wave of emotion, sitting carefully with his son, his healthy, fussing son, balanced in his arms.</p><p>“My lord,” Catelyn begins, licking her lips, “my lord, if you are not pleased-“</p><p>“I am terrified,” he chokes out.</p><p>He tells her, then. He tells her everything. She listens carefully, her own eyes filling with tears and anger as he says it all. At the end, she nods stiffly. </p><p>“I will ask that she remains in Torrhen’s Square. I cannot-...I ask that she not come any closer. I do not like it but nor would I wish such a fate on any woman.”</p><p>Ned squeezes her hand with his free one.</p><p>“Thank you, Catelyn. Thank you for that and, and for him. He is perfect.”</p><p>“His name. I-“</p><p>But Ned shakes his head. “I still love Robert. He is still my brother. We will raise our Robb to be the best of Robert, the best of us all, yes?”</p><p>She nods and that is that. It might have stayed that, they might have come to love each other much sooner, if he had left things at that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It is two more months until Ned can meet his other sons. He breaks apart from the armies to follow the Tallharts west.</p><p>Torrhen’s Square is a picturesque town set on the edge of Hart Lake. Ned watches with a smile as the people rush into the muddy center to welcome their men home. One woman nearly tackles her brother into the water. A soldier falls to the ground upon seeing a pretty girl approach with a babe at her chest.</p><p>At that, he begins searching for a blinding head of silver hair, but he doesn’t find anything. Lady Tyra, Helman’s wife, discreetly sends a page over. The skinny boy leads him through the steers and through a passage under the city walls to a cluster of wooden homes. They stop outside the largest one, further apart from the others and half hidden in the sentinel trees. Ned palms a copper into the boy’s hand before he takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.</p><p>A girl with copper hair and a hooked nose opens it. She pales and blushes at the sight of him, then excuses herself. She disappears inside quickly. Ned waits awkwardly on the doorstep until Valaena materializes in the girl’s place, a spectacular frown on her face.</p><p>“Why are you out here?”</p><p>Ned ducks his head. “It isn’t my home.”</p><p>Val rolls her eyes and pulls at the collar of his shirt. “Get in, you lumbering fool. Daisy! Daisy, get lost for a bit, would you?”</p><p>Daisy, the girl from earlier, rushes out of the house with scarlet cheeks.</p><p>“Come on and meet the boys, then.”</p><p>She grabs onto his hand and tugs him into one of the rooms. He had feared Torrhen’s Square would not be fit for a princess, but Valaena has somehow made the place just as luxurious as Winterfell. He’s sure that not even the Tallharts have so many carpets and tapestries.</p><p>Against the wall, under an open window, sit two cribs. Ned’s heart pounds as he slowly stalks over, never tightening his grip on Val’s hand.</p><p>In the left, a silver haired boy kicks playfully at his blanket. His pudgy hands reach up to Ned demandingly. Ned looks to Valaena, unsure and fearful, but she only smiles softly. His eyes dart down to her lips of their own accord.</p><p>Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifts the child to examine his face. He has his mother’s coloring, but everything else is all Ned. A warm sense of pride washes over Ned.</p><p>“Hello, little one,” he says, holding him tight against his chest. He’s much bigger than little Robb and has much, much less hair.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He’s also much, much hotter.</span></p><p>’My brother and I have the dragon’s blood of old.’</p><p>Had Harrenhal really only been two years ago? It feels like a century.</p><p>“Absolute nightmare, that one. Wild as a wolf. He’ll be another Brandon, mark my words.”</p><p>Valaena leaves his side to reach into the other bassinet. This babe is much smaller, of a size with Robb, and has a head of dark curls.</p><p>“Ned, why don’t you sit down?” She asks, rocking the babe gently.</p><p>He frowns at her tone but he obeys all the same. He carefully lowers himself onto the velvet sofa tucked against the other wall. The Tallharts certainly don’t have one of those. </p><p>Once he is seated, Valaena sits beside him as well, motioning for him to switch babes. It is clumsy and slow going, but he manages to do it with dropping either of them. Val pats his knee encouragingly when he smiles in triumph.</p><p>“Ned. Ned, that’s Jaehaerys you’re holding. He-...” She lets out a long, deep breath. “He is Lyanna’s son.”</p><p>Ned stares. He stares at Val, then at the boy, then at Val.</p><p>“She knew, Ned. She could tell just like I could tell about Elia. She made us swear to the Heart Tree, there under all the ravens and the moon. Sheira and I both swore to protect him. Sheira offered to claim him as hers, but the ravens refused.”</p><p>“The ravens?”</p><p>“Hundreds of them. They pitched a fit, screaming and squawking and clawing until I said I would take him in. I would have anyway, it just seemed safer, kinder even, to have him be a Blackwood.” She sighs heavily. “The gods wouldn’t have it, so we claimed I had twins and kept him hidden for his health. Sometimes there is a weaker baby when there are twins. It’s why he’s so small, you see.”</p><p>Ned swallows the burning lump in his throat.</p><p>“Aye. I’ve heard it so.”</p><p>“He’s mine, Ned,” she says sharply. “I don’t care who birthed him or who fathered him. He is my boy and I will raise him as a child of my own.”</p><p>Ned rubs Jaehaerys’ soft cheek. He turns his head, feeling about for a nipple.</p><p>“As will I, Val. As will I.”</p><p>She nods reverently. “It’s why he’s named Jaehaerys. I’d never name a child of mine something so awful as Jon.”</p><p>Ned laughs despite all of his sadness. “Of course you wouldn’t.” Then a thought occurs. “You never told me his name.”</p><p>The other boy smiles at the sudden attention. Val snorts derisively.</p><p>“Little shit,” she murmurs affectionately, flattening his thin hair. “This is Maegor.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Yes. Maegor Snow.”</p><p>“Val-“</p><p>“They’ll fear him anyway, Ned. Let them tremble at his name alone.”</p><p>“Val,” Ned says softly. He reaches over to kiss her loose hair. “Val, I’ll never let them touch you. None of you.”</p><p>She leans her head against his shoulder and watches Jaehaerys doze off.</p><p>“Neither will I, Ned. Neither will I.”</p><p>He doesn’t know how it happens. He doesn’t know who moves first. All he knows is that the babes are on the couch and Ned is on the carpets, one hand fisted in Valaena’s hair and the other hooked around her knee as he pounds into her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He leaves for Winterfell a week later. She does not see him off. They had six days of goodbyes, a mournful celebration of the love they can never nurture.</p><p>Dameon Snow is born nine months later, a cruel boy born of sorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next chapter is from Jon’s(/Jae’s) POV and let me tell you, it was so much fun to write. I’m having such a good time with this story.</p><p>Ned is OOC here in that he cheated on Cat, but it is the last time he ever does it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon was eight when a man tried to kill him for the first time. After that horrible night, he wonders if it had happened before and they were too young to realize it. He wonders how many bodies his mother buried in the forest.</p><p>Mother hit the man on the head, dragged him to the Heart Tree in the woods, and fed his blood to the Old Gods. They moved out of the cottage and into Torrhen’s Square’s walls the next day. Mother sat them down and said they must never, ever tell Father unless it happened again.</p><p>He is ten when it happens again. Daemon stabs the man in the throat and fetches their mother, who is in bed with Prince Oberyn. There is a long, hard discussion. Grandfather had died in the Greyjoy Rebellion the previous year and many, many more people would die if the North rose up in rebellion.</p><p>“But why would the North rebel for a few bastards?” Jon asks.</p><p>“Jaeh-“ Mother begins, but he interrupts with a firm, “Jon.”</p><p>Prince Oberyn smirks half-heartedly from where lounges nearly naked in front of the roaring hearth. “And I thought daughters were difficult.”</p><p>Mother ignores him and kneels in front of their sofa. She meets each of their gazes seriously. Jon and Maegor would be identical if it weren’t for Maegor’s silver hair and purple eyes. They truly are miniature Ned Starks. Daemon, however, doesn’t look like anyone. Or rather, he looks like everyone.</p><p>Most people think that Daemon is the most Targaryen of them, but that’s not true. Maegor is the one who brings fire and blood and dragons to mind. Daemon is ice and snow and the lonely howl of a wolf. Sometimes, when Daemon is watching someone intently, Jon imagines a black direwolf circling its prey.</p><p>Daemon even looks like winter. His eyes are as pale as Lord Bolton’s, only purple, and his hair is as thick and black as Uncle Brandon’s had been. Some say he is Rhaegar come again, but they also Mother could have been Rhaegar’s twin and he really only got her milky skin. If he truly looks like anyone, it would be Sansa, oddly enough. They’re both the prettiest.</p><p>“What would your father say if he were here?” Mother asks.</p><p>“I can answer that,” Oberyn declares.</p><p>“You can, can you?” She asks, her brows raised.</p><p>“I can.” He too examines the boys, his intense gaze lingering on Jon. Something shifts and it is no longer Oberyn speaking to them, but the Red Viper. </p><p>“I was there that day in the Throne Room. Tywin Lannister marched in with his captains carrying those bodies so proudly, as if they had accomplished some great feat. All I could think of was Elia.</p><p>“‘<em>Dragonspawn</em>,’ Robert Baratheon claimed. ‘<em>I see no children, only dragonspawn</em>.’</p><p>“And do you know what Ned Stark said? Has anyone ever told you?”</p><p>Jon and his brothers shake their heads.</p><p>“He walked up to the King, looked him right in the eye, and he said, ‘<em>My children are dragonspawn. Do you mean to murder them as well?</em>’</p><p>“King Robert looked at cold Ned Stark. He looked at the giant, and the flayed man, and the old wolf at his back, and he balked. They still sing your father’s next words in the taverns, all these years later: ‘<em>If you try to harm one hair on any of their heads, we will see how the storm fares against winter. Do you understand, Your Grace?</em>’”</p><p>The Viper turns to them, the fire enhancing the regal planes of his face. “One word from your mouths and this country will see a war the likes of it which it has never seen. So tell me, my princes, what will it be?”</p><p>In the end, it is Daemon that works out an answer. Jon suspects Mother and Oberyn had it all along and they wanted to teach them how to get to it.</p><p>They purchase an ice box and ship the body south. A note written in Dameon’s messy scrawl note is tucked into the assassin’s vest. No one will tell Jon what it says.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jon is almost fourteen when it happens again.</p><p>There were other attempts over the years, but an anonymous peacemaker warns them if the Dornish can not. They can always tell which it is because Prince Oberyn has a habit of intercepting the payments. Sometimes, Prince Oberyn and his allies send them Targaryen things for no reason at all. They hide and hoard them like the dragons of old.</p><p>For whatever reason, Jon and his mother have no warning this time.</p><p>Five men come in the dead of the night, in the middle of a sleeting storm. They slit the dogs’ throat and crawl through the back window. Three of them climb up the loft ladder. The other two wait outside the bedroom doors.</p><p>They do not consider the mean old cat cat. They do not consider Valaena Targaryen.</p><p>Old Tom, the fat orange bastard, raises a ruckus. He yowls and spits and claws and knocks over everything he can in his desperation to escape into the rafters.</p><p>Valaena Targaryen is the daughter of the Mad King. She has slept with a blade under her pillow since she was twelve. She was trained to use that blade by Ser Oswell Whent, the nastiest fighter on the Kingsguard, and Prince Oberyn Martell, the most immoral man to ever live.</p><p>Valaena Targaryen fights. It is not honorable or valiant. It is fierce and quick and dirty.</p><p>Maegor traveled to Winterfell ahead of his brothers as he usually does, so it is only Jon and Daemon at home. Though the townhouse has two bedrooms, the three of them nearly always crowd into the same one. Daemon wakes first. He will later say it was the cat that he hates so much. He will say that he slunk to Jon’s bed and shook him awake with his hand over his mouth.</p><p>Daemon is the most aptly named of all the brothers. Jon is good and brave, yet never wise. Maegor is loyal and wild, but never cruel. Daemon, however, is as unforgiving and clever as his namesake.</p><p>Silently, so very carefully, they grab their swords and step through the window. They tiptoe around the house to the small stables nestled on the side. They climb, one after the other, ignoring the irritated snorts and stomps of their three horses.</p><p>Daemon, the nimbler of the two, balances on a wooden beam to swing his sword at the shutter’s lock. Two strikes and they bang open against the wooden wall. He half-leaps, half-climbs into their mother’s loft.</p><p>A flash of orange catches Jon’s eye. He looks over his shoulder to find a guard waving his lantern. The old man raises his axe at Jon, then at the castle. Jon points to the castle before following his little brother.</p><p>There is a dead man in the corner. Another lies at Jon’s feet. Daemon is hacking away at a third man, standing over a bleeding woman. Jon’s so stunned by it all, so shocked that they’ve sent three men, that he doesn’t realize it’s Mother bleeding out on the floor until Daemon kicks at his attacker, sending him over the loft and crashing into a fourth.</p><p>Dear gods. How many have they sent?</p><p>“Help Mother!” Daemon orders.</p><p>Then, as silent and graceful as a shadowcat, he drops off the ledge and into the fight.</p><p>Jon runs to his mother. She is pale, so very pale, and her black shift shines wetly in the dull light. Her arms are slick with blood as she clutches at two long slashes across her torso. Jon immediately drops his sword and applies pressure to her wound.</p><p>“Stay with me, Mother. Stay with me.”</p><p>He glances around wildly, looking for anything that could help. He can’t stitch it alone, but he might be able to cauterize it. With what, though? Mother always blows out the candles up here. There’s too much wood.</p><p>The clang of metal stops suddenly. Jon and Mother both freeze, not even daring to breathe until they hear Daemon say something in that soft way of his. They both relax, even as a wet thud sounds from below.</p><p>“Daemon,” Mother whispers.</p><p>“He’s alright, Ma. He’s safe. I’m safe. We’re-“</p><p>The front door crashes open. Light spills in, flooding downstairs in an orange glow.</p><p>“Finally!” Daemon snarls. “Mother needs a maester. In the loft.”</p><p>Lord Tallhart’s men immediately obey. The maester is spry for his age, thank the gods, and is at Jon’s side before he or Mother can work out what is going on downstairs.</p><p>“Keep up the pressure, lad. You’re doing well.”</p><p>The maester examines mother so closely that his bushy eyebrows nearly get stained with blood.</p><p>“Eyes aren’t what they used to be, I’m afraid. Hamish, bring a torch, would you? And you Mik, fetch my needle and thread.”</p><p>The boy Mik tries to feed her milk of the poppy, but she refuses.</p><p>“Jon,” she rasps.</p><p>It’s the first time she’s ever called him Jon. It’s always Jae or Jaehaerys from her. His eyes burn with tears at the sound of it.</p><p>“Jon. Jo-“</p><p>“I’m right here, Ma.”</p><p>“Robb. Stay with Robb.”</p><p>“Yes, M-“</p><p>Her indigo eyes pierce his very soul. “Robb, Jon. Stay with Robb.” She takes a deep breath against a jolt of pain. “Promise me.”</p><p>“I promise.”</p><p>She relaxes the tiniest bit. The maester takes the opportunity to pour the vial down her throat.</p><p>Jon watches the old man cut through her dress. There are two long, deep slices that form a wide x under her breasts. Maester Emmett sews deftly and quickly at the thin edges. The movements are transfixing, fast and rhythmic.</p><p>“Come on, Jon.”</p><p>Daemon stands over him. He looks far older than thirteen. Blood covers his hands and his torso and thighs. His eyes have lost their clever spark. They are flat. Cold. Dead.</p><p>“Come on,” he repeats.</p><p>“I’m not leaving-“</p><p>“You heard her. We stay with Robb.”</p><p>“Your brother is right,” a deep voice rasps. Lord Talhart’s bushy head pokes over the ladder. “Lord Stark will protect you.”</p><p>Daemon snorts and shoulders a stained burlap sack. Jon looks around and realizes that the dead men don’t have any heads.</p><p>“Come on, Jon. I want to arrive before the heads rot.”<br/><br/></p><hr/><p> </p><p>The Stark bastards could make their way from Torrhen’s Square to Winterfell with their eyes closed. Their parents made sure of that. Mother taught them to navigate the stars like the dragonriders of old. Father taught them how to live off of an unforgiving land, much like the First Men did.</p><p>Joramun and Cannibal are sweating and whinnying in pain when they ride through the gates of Winterfell. Any lesser beasts would be on the verge of death. Father always supplied them with the best horses gold could buy, sometimes even trading so far south as the Reach.</p><p>Jon slides out of the saddle, wincing at the pain in his thighs. He loves riding. He loves the freedom, the quiet companionship, but he’s never ridden like this before. They’ve managed to cut a four day trip down to one.</p><p>“Jon!” A deep voice calls. “Jon! Is all-“</p><p>Ser Rodrik’s alarmed cries sputter off at the sight of Daemon, still covered in blood and steel.</p><p>“Has there been any word from home?” Daemon demands.</p><p>Jon startles. His younger brother has never revealed a preference for either place or parent. He’s never called either house home. Has he preferred Mother all this time? Jon always thought he might like Winterfell better for all of its mysteries and people.</p><p>“No, lad. What’s happened?”</p><p>Daemon ignores him and unties the sack from his saddle. He hefts it over his shoulder, grunting at the weight. Jon isn’t stupid enough to offer his help.</p><p>“Where’s my father?”</p><p>“The Great Hall. Daemon-“</p><p>Jon catches Ser Rodrik’s eyes and shakes his head. There will be no stopping this, not in any way that would keep Daemon from feeling threatened and betrayed. The old knight’s whiskers twitch, but he steps aside all the same.</p><p>Jon watches the dark halls uneasily. He loves Winterfell. He loves Robb and Father and his siblings with all of his heart, he just doesn’t want to live with them at Winterfell forever. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to Mother. The world won’t be right without her in it. She is his rock. If Daemon had been a grandfather’s boy, and Maegor is a father’s boy, Jon is undoubtedly a mother’s boy.</p><p>His throat is heavy and tears are burning at his eyes by the time they reach the dining hall. It is early enough that the doors are still open, allowing the denizens of Winterfell to come and go as they please. Jon follows Daemon into the room, ignoring how the tables quieten as they pass.</p><p>Maegor’s chair scrapes back in the silence. He jumps off the short dais and meets them in three long strides. Robb is quick on his heels. Their gazes dart from the sack to his brothers, fury quickly overpowering the concern in their eyes.</p><p>Daemon hefts the sack off his shoulder so he can lower himself to one knee. Jon mimics him, though he does not understand why they must supplicate themselves. He only wants to ask for Maester Lewin.</p><p>“Father,” Jon greets. His voice comes out more tired than he would like. Robb squeezes his shoulder.</p><p>“Get to your feet,” Father commands.</p><p>“Father-“ Daemon begins.</p><p>Jon chances a quick peek. He instantly recoils. He has never seen his father look like this. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his eyes are burning with a strange light, yet he looks as cold and unyielding as the Wall. Suddenly, Oberyn’s words from so long before come to mind.</p><p>Shit. They’ll have to write the Prince. He’ll want to come see her either way.</p><p>“I will not have my sons on their knees for me,” Father says, his voice dangerously soft. “Rise, Daemon, and speak.”</p><p>Daemon rises, but he does not speak. He pulls out a dagger, causing Lady Catelyn to clutch the table, and slices through the burlap. Five heads tumble onto the stone floor. All of their faces are frozen in agony or anger, rage at being killed by a woman and her youngest boy. A beast in Jon’s chest grins at the thought.</p><p>“Sansa,” Lady Catelyn says into the silence. “Sansa, take your siblings out.”</p><p>Sansa, Arya, and Bran are staring at the heads with wide eyes, their faces all deathly pale. He realizes, with a start, that they have never seen anything like this. They have never known death except for Grandfather. They have never known fear. Even Robb has yet to embrace it.</p><p>“No,” Daemon barks.</p><p>Lady Catelyn stiffens. “You dare-“</p><p>“I have been killing men since I was Bran’s age. They-“</p><p>“This has happened before?!” Father booms.</p><p>Maegor laughs bitterly. “Thrice so far that we know, though they have tried to send a thousand men.”</p><p>“Oberyn usually intercedes,” Jon supplies.</p><p>Everyone in the hall looks to Lord Stark. He is pale and stiff and more furious than Jon thought him capable of. Maegor sighs and gives Jon his best ‘you’re a hopeless idiot’ look.</p><p>“Sansa-“ Lady Catelyn tries again, but Father raises his hand, a silent command to take her seat. She obeys after shooting Daemon a murderous glance.</p><p>“Your mother?” Father demands.</p><p>Jon swallows past the lump in his throat. “She may not live.”</p><p>Maegor curses heavily, sinking onto the nearest bench. The people slowly begin to file out at his display of emotion. Robb mirrors him, much to Lady Catelyn’s dismay.</p><p>For whatever reason, Robb had demanded to meet the mother of his little brothers at the young age of seven. After swearing a solemn vow to always protect her children and she to always protect his, Robb had rebelliously struck up a friendly relationship with Mother. They write to each other almost every fortnight. Both of them refuse to say what the letters contain, but Lady Catelyn never expressly forbade it after she intercepted a few, so it can’t be anything too terrible. Daemon thinks it might be stories from her time King’s Landing. Intelligence on the Southern lords that Robb might need one day.</p><p>“Father,” Jon says, when the hall is empty. “I must go. There are things I must do.”</p><p>“Like what, Jon?”</p><p>“I...I must speak with Maester Lewin and there are several ravens to send.”</p><p>“Ravens to send.”</p><p>“Aye. Lord Tallhart must send the bodies for inspection. The last man had a company brand on his arm. Someone needs to retrieve our treasures, though I suppose it can be me. There’s the matter of property to sort out as well. Daisy is nearly ready to give birth and Mother was to present the babe to the Gods. And Oberyn-“</p><p>“Jon!” Daemon lashes out, but it is too late.</p><p>“Enough!” </p><p>Jon has never, not ever, heard Father raise his voice. Robb hasn’t either if his cringing is any indication.</p><p>“Why must you write a Prince of Dorne, Jon? What business does he have with sons of House Stark?! Why does Prince Oberyn know of my son’s assassins and I do not?!”</p><p>“He was there,” Jon says quietly. “He was there the last time.”</p><p>“And why was I not informed?! Why have I never been told?!”</p><p>“Because we are bastards!” Daemon suddenly shouts. “We are dragonspawn! Why should anyone die for us? Why should any of these men leave their families for the sake of some half mad dragon whelps? They have their own bastards to care for!”</p><p>Father balls his fists on the table and leans to stare down at the four of them. “I would not care if you were born from a whore or a Lannister or Aerys himself! I do not care if your name is Snow or Stark or Targaryen! You are my sons and I will be damned if anyone takes any more of my family!”</p><p>His nostrils are flared and his chest is heaving as his cold gray eyes trace each of their faces. His expression softens infinitesimally when he sees the tears shining on Daemon’s lashes.</p><p>“Did your mother ever tell you of Raventree Hall?”</p><p>Daemon shakes his head, wiping his tears furiously on his sleeve. Sansa, of all people, gives a great sob and jerks out of her mother’s bruising grip. She runs as quickly as her skinny legs will carry her and wraps herself around her half brother, careless of the dry blood flaking off onto her dress or the severed heads at her feet.</p><p>“Lady Blackwood was pregnant at the same time as your mother.She birthed Lucas Blackwood days before Valaena gave birth. He was pale and dark of hair like the Blackwood’s northern ancestors. When Jon was born, and he too had the look of the First Men, Lady Blackwood offered to claim him as her own.”</p><p>Jon gapes. Mother had never mentioned anything of the sort. He only knew that he, Maegor, and Lord Lucas were milkbrothers and his mother wrote to Lady Shiera at least once a moon’s turn. She had never breathed a word of this, though.</p><p>Lady Catelyn is similarly shocked. Her head swivels from Sansa to her husband in horror.</p><p>“Before your mother could protest, a murder of ravens swooped down from the Heart Tree. They blotted out the moon with their numbers. Lucas Blackwood is said to still have the scar on his shoulder.</p><p>“You are of the North, boys. The Old Gods demanded that you all come home to the North. The blood of kings runs through your veins twiceover, but it is winter that has claimed you. When the cold winds blow, the lone wolf dies-“</p><p>“But the pack survives,” Arya finishes fiercely.</p><p>“What of Mother?” Dameon demands. “Will you leave her to the cold winds?”</p><p>Father deflates at his harsh words. “No, Daemon. Of course not. She will be brought here to heal, if she is able, and then I will arrange another home for her. Is that acceptable?”</p><p>Maegor nods.</p><p>Father smiles, though there is no joy in it. “Sansa, would you order a bath for your brother’s rooms? I know they are tired and weary from their journey.”</p><p>“Yes, Father,” she says dutifully.</p><p>“Go, then. All of you. I will send for you when the time comes. ”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Mother arrives five days later. When she is not in a drug-induced sleep, she is mad with fever. She cries for Llewyn Martell and Oswell Whent. Once, she mistook Maegor for Rhaegar and asked him to play the harp. Most of the time, she thinks Jon is his father and confesses her love. Worst of all, when Dameon was on watch, she named him Ramsey Bolton and nearly killed him.</p><p>Father, Robb, and Lady Catelyn approach on the second day. Daemon nods at their trueborn brother, but Maegor rises to his feet, crosses his arms, and stands tall against the Lord of Winterfell. It seems to last a eternity. Jon can feel his heart thudding, the sharp pain tugging at the veins in his hands and throat. Finally, Father slumps in on himself and drops his gaze to the floor.</p><p>Jon can’t look at Lady Catelyn. He might lose himself to the rage brewing in his chest if he does.</p><p>“Hello Aunt Val,” Robb says cheerfully, his most charming smile in place.</p><p>Mother’s brows crease and her eyes open so very slowly. She blinks several times, shifting against the pillows. Her eyes widen as they focus on Robb. She struggles to scramble upright. One side of her shift pulls down to reveal a bony shoulder and fresh blood blooms around the old stains.</p><p>Robb surges forward to gently press her back down. He glances at Jon, gesturing at the wound, but Jon only shakes his head. Maester Lewin said it will keep bleeding until it heals. If it heals. If it does, the muscles underneath are ruined. She will never lift a sword or use a bow again.</p><p>“You must stay put, Aunt Val.”</p><p>“Your Grace,” she says, lowering her head.</p><p>Robb laughs. “I’m no king.”</p><p>“But I watched it. I saw them.”</p><p>Robb’s smile dies, just the smallest bit, before he forces another laugh. “Of course. How foolish of me to forget.”</p><p>“It’s cool” she says, patting his hand. “Where’s Grey Wind?”</p><p>“Just outside, Auntie,” he says softly.</p><p>“Robb,” she says sternly. “You must keep him close at all times. You must never lock him away.”</p><p>“I won’t.”</p><p>“I mean it. I don’t care how much he frightens the other lords. Would Tywin Lannister ever lock away his lion in the kennels? No? Then why should the King in the North cage his direwolf?”</p><p>Robb wipes at his eyes on one sleeve. “He shouldn’t.”</p><p>“There, there Robb,” she sighs. “We’ll get her back. Sansa is tough. There’s steel under all those pretty dresses. We’ll get her back and then we’ll kill them all.”</p><p>“Aye. We will,” he says, suddenly fierce.</p><p>Mother nods tiredly. “Watch over your brothers, will you?”</p><p>“I will. I always will. I swore it a long time ago, remember?”</p><p>“Little ginger Ned. Always so solemn, you Starks. Even my own. Even Maegor. You’ll watch over him, won’t you?”</p><p>“Yes, Auntie.”</p><p>“He’s a dragon, that one. No ice to temper the fire in him.”</p><p>“Not Daemon?”</p><p>“Gods, no. You know who he makes me think of?”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Brandon Snow. Torrhen’s brother. With the-“</p><p>“With the weirwood arrows.”</p><p>“And Bloodraven. Bloodraven carried the blood of the First Men, too.”</p><p>Mother closes her eyes and settles back onto her mountain of pillows.</p><p>“What about Jon?” Robb asks loudly, frantically. “Who does Jon remind you of?”</p><p>“Everything Rhaegar could have been.”</p><p>“All Targaryen, too, huh?”</p><p>Mother opens her eyes. “His is the song of ice and fire. I tried to stop the war. I tried to stop it, but Jon had to have been born. The gods willed it.” A bitter fire suddenly burns in her gaze. “I wish Rhaegar hadn’t died. I wish I could rub it in is his stupid, smug face. The dragon has three heads, but they’re mine. He got the rest of them killed, the fucking idiot. Don’t be an idiot, Robb.”</p><p>“I could never.”</p><p>“Of course not. Catelyn is too...too sensible to raise a fool.” Mother sighs again, her eyes closing heavily. “Now off with you, Robb. Wake me when we march.”</p><p>“Yes, Auntie.”</p><p>“Love you, kid.”</p><p>Robb chokes back a sob. “I love you too, Auntie.”</p><p>He presses a soft kiss to the vow and leaves for the Godswood. He and Maegor pray until the next dawn.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br/><br/></span></p><hr/><p> </p><p>Lady Catelyn returns on the third day, this time with Sansa in tow. Sansa is dressed in a dark gown and carries a heavy bag. She smiles sadly at both of her brothers before she turns to Mother’s sickbed.</p><p>Sansa falters. Her big eyes dart from her sunken cheeks to the bloody bowl on the nightstand. Daemon sighs. He strides forward to squeeze Sansa's hand and pulls her to the chairs at her bedside. They sit side by side, as different as night and day.</p><p>“Hello, Princess.”</p><p>Mother does not wake. Daemon nudges Sansa so that she will continue.</p><p>“I prayed for you in the Godswood. I prayed for you in the Sept too, even though you do not worship the Seven. I hope you don’t mind. Father said you wouldn’t.” Sansa wrings her hands nervously. “Maester Aemon is on his way. He must travel in a carriage, but he’s coming. I...I thought to ask him of the gods in Old Valyria and then I remembered something. I remembered something from all the stories.”</p><p>She reaches down into the bag at her feet and pulls out the dragon egg. Jon knows it well. They all do. They have memorized each gold swirl amongst the cream, every raised ridge of every scale. Sansa tucks it gently under the covers so that it is nestled into Mother’s side.</p><p>“I said to Maegor, ‘If only we had a dragon egg’, and he took me down to the crypts. It was clever to hide your things there. No one will ever find them. I swear to never-...”</p><p>Mother sucks in a deep, sudden breath. Her eyes jolt open and her hands dart to the egg. She peers around wildly, her sharp gaze locking onto Daemon’s. She hasn’t been so aware, so alert, since the attack.</p><p>“Fire,” she croaks. “Fire.”</p><p>“Mother-“</p><p>“Build a fire.”</p><p>“Mother, lie down-“</p><p>“Ned. Where is Ned?”</p><p>Lady Catelyn steps forward before Jon can say anything.</p><p>“You are not well, Princess,” she says, equally wary and curt.</p><p>“I need a fire. Tell him. Tell him I swear on Moat Cailin. I need a fire.”</p><p>Lady Catelyn blanches. “I shall send for him, but you must lie back, Princess. You are not well.”</p><p>“Send for him then! Daemon! Go!”</p><p>Daemon hesitates, but he skitters to his feet and out the door. Mother stares out after him. Sweat is gathered at her brow and her face has take on a grey tinge.</p><p>“Princess-“ Sansa begins.</p><p>She flinches when Mother turns to stare at her.</p><p>“Sansa.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Sansa, you must listen to me,” Mother says urgently.</p><p>“Yes, Princess.”</p><p>“The Prince is not what he seems, nor is the Queen. Your direwolf will die for their pride. Your innocence will die for their greed. I know you want to marry him-“</p><p>“I don’t want to marry him!” Sansa blurts.</p><p>Mother frowns. “What?”</p><p>“They tried to kill my brothers. I don’t want to marry them.”</p><p>Jon has never, not ever seen his mother speechless. She tries to speak several times before she shakes herself out of her daze.</p><p>“I hadn’t realized you’d grown up so quickly, Sansa. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“They killed your family. Your mother and brother and sister. They kill everyone. They aren't safe.”</p><p>“No. No, it isn’t. Listen, Sansa, if worst comes to worst, you must remember my words. Wait for Oberyn. He will protect you. And whatever you do, do not trust Littlefinger.”</p><p>“Littlefinger?” Lady Catelyn demands. “Petyr?”</p><p>Mother and Sansa do not look away from one another, almost as if they are in some sort of ancient trance.</p><p>“Do not trust him. You will meet a fate worse than death if you do. Only trust the North and Oberyn. Not Doran. Not Arianne. Only Oberyn and Ellaria. Do you understand?”</p><p>Sansa nods</p><p>"Keep your wolf close. Never let Lady leave your side. No matter who it is or why, never let her leave your side. Do you understand?"</p><p>"Yes, Princess."</p><p>"And Daemon. Daemon needs you just as you need him. Promise me, Sansa. Promise me you'll look after one another."</p><p>"I promise."</p><p>“Good,” Mother says, letting out a long, slow breath. “Good. Now get that bag and help me up. I need a fire.”</p><p>It is a difficult process, but Jon and Sansa manage to get her to her feet. She has lost weight, Jon notices. Her muscles have faded and her bones are more prominent. Lady Catelyn watches with her lips pressed tight together. She does not argue. She only gives the three of them a stern look before opening the door.</p><p>Ravens swarm in. Sansa shrieks, ducking to avoid their wings and beaks and claws. Mother clutches the egg tighter to her chest.</p><p>“FIRE!” One croaks.</p><p>“PYRE!” Another calls.</p><p>“FIRE!”</p><p>“FIRE!”</p><p>“PYRE!”</p><p>Their incessant cries follow them to the courtyard. They herd the four of them, urging them on outside. Guards and servants watch fearfully, some joining the procession and others running off to the Godswood. It is a short distance, thank the gods. Mother could not have endured stairs when they brought her in. She still can not. She is panting and sweating, her lovely face contorted in pain, as she leans into Jon's embrace.</p><p>A cry of alarm sounds, followed by a woosh of flames. Lady Catelyn pulls up her skirts and rushes down the hall. She halts at whatever she sees.</p><p>"Mother have mercy," she whispers.</p><p>Mother wheezes out a triumphant laugh at the horror on Lady Catelyn's face. She steps back in unbridled terror as they approach, a prayer on her lips.</p><p>A rings of massive flames burns just outside the Godswood. They flicker and dance, towering over the three of them. A crowd of people look on with a grim sort of acceptance. There is no shock or fear in their expressions, only a calm solemnity. Jon has never been more proud to be a Northman.</p><p>"I don't know what happened," Daemon says, his voice high and the burning torch still in his hands. "It just...it just lit up."</p><p>"Daemon!"</p><p>Jon looks over his shoulder to find Father, Maegor, and Theon skidding to a halt. Maegor stares at the pyre, the flames reflecting in his purple eyes.</p><p>"Daemon!" Father repeats. "What is the- Valaena! Valaena, what are you- No. No! I forbid it. I forbid this madness!"</p><p>"Oh, Ned, you stupid fool." Mother whispers, her chest heaving with her struggling breath. "Don't you remember? I run hot. I've got the-"</p><p>"So did your brother! And he is dead, just as the rest of the dragons. Stop this, Valaena. Do not make me hurt you."</p><p>"You couldn't hurt me, Ned. I love you too much for that."</p><p>Father winces. "Valaena-"</p><p>"No, Father," Maegor interrupts, still mesmerized by the flames.</p><p>He reaches for the bag on Sansa's shoulder. She hesitates, just a moment, before she passes it over. Maegor reaches in, pulls out the green egg, and examines it, turning it this way and that. He frowns and chooses the black one instead, nodding to himself as soon as it brushes against his palm. There is a flash of steel and then blood spurts from his wrist. Jon stares down at the green egg.</p><p>Sansa shrieks. Father cries out and lunges, but Maegor has already turned. He walks into the pyre without hesitation. Still, Jon only looks at the egg lying in the dirt.</p><p>"Maegor!" Sansa cries "Maegor!"</p><p>Mother cackles. She laughs and laughs, the eerie sound echoing out over the silent courtyard. She pushes out of Jon's hold, stumbling the slightest bit, before she too walks through the flames. Jon doesn't pay her a bit of attention. He doesn't pay any of it any mind. The green egg is taunting him, it's matte scales somehow reflecting the burning pyre.</p><p>"Jon," Father hisses. "Jon, don't you dare! JON! JAEHAERYS!"</p><p>He doesn't feel the bite of the blade. He doesn't feel the kiss of the flames. All he can feel is the heat emanating from his egg, warming him down to his very bones.</p><p>Jon's vision is nothing but yellow and white and green. All he can hear is the steady rush of fire. The flames lick at his clothes, burning them into ash. On his left, Maegor's hair melts into a silver sludge, his purple eyes bright against the inferno.</p><p>An eternity passes. Or perhaps only a heartbeat. Jon is snug and content in the fire, satisfied with only the cracking of scales and the snap of wood. It lulls him into a complacency so absolute, so infinite, that he does not even realize when the world around him darkens.</p><p>Night reigns. The pyre is charred black, the flames only a foot tall.</p><p>Maegor stands. The beast’s black wings drape over his shoulder. A cream dragon hops up from a pile of bones and digs it’s claws into his calf. It climbs up and up until Maegor can scoop it up in his arms.</p><p>Jon forces himself to his feet, nearly falling back down from the dizziness. An emerald dragon balances itself on his right forearm like a hawk. The long cut on his other wrist has closed into an angry pink line.</p><p>The brothers step over the flames and into the moonlight.</p><p>Slowly, so very cautiously, Daemon edges forward, Sansa shoving at his back. The white dragon rustles it’s wings and stretches out it’s neck impatiently. He takes it in his shaking hands, his eyes wide as it rubs its tiny head against his chest.</p><p>“Mother?” He asks.</p><p>Maegor shakes his head. Their baby brother blanches and stumbles. Jon reaches out to steady him. He has always been the most sensitive of them despite his coldness. Maybe because of it.</p><p>“I’m going to kill them,” Maegor says, his voice as deep as calm as the sea. “I’m going to kill every last one of them. I’m going to melt that fucking throne into a hundred crosses and crucify every single Lannister and Baratheon that draws breath.”</p><p>“It will be years before that is possible,” Daemon says, ever calculating.</p><p>“But it is possible.”</p><p>“Aye,” Jon says, looking behind them.</p><p>Their father kneels in the pyre, his eyes closed and his hand resting on a white skull. Tears trail down into his beard.</p><p>Jon can’t bring himself to cry. He can’t bring himself to grieve. All he has is a fathomless pit of rage.</p>
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